The throne room of house Celryuu was not a quiet place by nature.
It was built for sound — for the echo of declarations, the weight of assembled courts, the particular resonance of a king's voice finding the far wall and returning changed. The ceiling vaulted high above the obsidian floor, carved from the same pale stone of the eastern territories, and the Celryuu banners hung the length of the hall in deep black and gold, still in the windless interior air.
Tonight it held only two men and the sound of their laughter.
They sat not on the throne itself but at its steps — an informality that would have scandalized the court had anyone been present to see it. The throne rose behind them, regal and permanent, the kind of object that outlasts the men who sit in it and knows it. The two men seemed unbothered by its presence in the way that only those completely comfortable with power ever manage to be.
The first man wore a crown of gold set against a mane of jet black hair — not ceremonially, not for an audience, simply because it was his and he had not taken it off yet. His eyes were crystal blue and full of life, the kind of eyes that looked at a room and immediately understood it, and his armor was a thing of genuine consequence — deeper and more elaborate than anything his guards wore, than anything his son wore, the Celryuu crest worked into the chest plate with the craft of something meant to last beyond its owner.
He refilled his cup without looking at the bottle.
The man across from him had short dark brown hair and the kind of face that had learned long ago to reveal exactly as much as it chose to. His armor was neither royal nor common — it occupied a distinct middle rank that announced itself without explanation, the armor of a man whose importance derived from function rather than title. He held his cup in both hands and watched his king with the comfortable ease of someone who had long since stopped performing in his presence.
Their laughter settled into the vaulted air and faded.
"They approach, sire," the man said. His voice was casual. The observation could have been about weather.
The king took a long sip from his cup before answering.
"I sense them, Drevos. Twenty strong." He set the cup down on the step beside him and looked at the far end of the hall with the same unhurried expression he had worn all evening. "I sense none of my royal guard among them. They must have gotten to them first."
Drevos considered this over the rim of his cup.
"They are quite brave to come here," he said. "I wonder who exactly this is."
"We will know shortly."
They sat with that for a moment. The torches along the hall walls burned without movement. The banners hung perfectly still. Somewhere beyond the great doors at the far end of the throne room came the distant sound of armored men moving through corridors — organized, deliberate, unhurried in the way of people who believe they have already won.
The king reached for the bottle and refilled his cup.
The doors opened.
They swung inward with the kind of force that was meant to make a statement, and the statement landed — twenty Saiyans filling the threshold in a column two wide, most of them armored in the warrior colors of house Celryuu, which was perhaps the detail that sat worst in the air of the room. The king's own colors on the men come to end him.
At the front of the column stood a man with long black hair and dark eyes. His armor matched Drevos' in rank and distinction, the armor of someone whose position was earned and administrative rather than martial. He stood with his weight settled and his chin slightly raised, the posture of a man who had rehearsed this moment and found it satisfying.
The king and Drevos looked at him from the throne steps.
Neither stood.
"My king," the man said. His voice was calm and collected, each word placed with the precision of someone who had planned this conversation from both sides. He wore the expression of a man who believed he stood in a position of total advantage.
"What is this, Zeluun?" the king asked. He reached for his cup.
Zeluun let a moment pass before he answered — not from hesitation, but from the pleasure of the pause.
"This," he said, "is a simple change in personnel, my liege. We have determined that our great house will no longer require your services." He held the king's gaze without difficulty. "Your immediate termination will be required."
The word termination occupied the throne room for a moment.
"Termination," the king repeated. Not a question. Something between amusement and recognition.
"You are brave to speak such treasons in this room, Zeluun," Drevos said. He had not moved from his position on the steps. He took a sip from his cup.
Zeluun's composure cracked for just a moment — not into fear but into something uglier, the contempt of a man who has stopped pretending. A short, sharp laugh escaped him and he pressed a hand briefly to his face before letting it fall. When his eyes returned to Drevos they were cold and flat.
"You are in no position to make threats, Drevos."
The king set his cup down. Slowly. With the care of someone who intends to return to it.
"Did you harm my son in this endeavor of yours?" he asked.
Something moved across Zeluun's face. Not guilt. Calculation.
"Absolutely not," he said. "He is the next king. Young. Impressionable." A pause. "Easy to guide toward wiser decisions than his father made."
The throne room received that in silence.
The king looked at Drevos. Drevos looked at the king. Something passed between them that had no name and required none — the communication of two men who have stood beside each other long enough that the important things no longer need words.
The king rose from the throne steps.
He reached up and removed his crown. He placed it beside his cup on the step, with the same care, in the same unhurried motion, as though setting down something he would pick up again later. His cape followed. He stood before the throne of his house in his armor alone and looked across the length of the hall at Zeluun and the twenty men behind him — at his own colors on the bodies of traitors — and his expression held nothing that resembled fear and nothing that resembled surprise.
Only the deep, settled composure of a man who had known this kind of moment would come and had decided long ago how he would meet it.
"Enough speaking," the king said.
He raised his fists.
"Let us settle this with our Saiyan pride."
"Kill him." Zeluun spoke his voice dripping with venom.
In the next moment the two of the men behind the traitor darted for the king. The king wasted no time and darted closing the distance between him and two men approaching. He used his right hand and delivered a punch, knocking away one of the men as his left found its way to another's face, grabbing the assailant.
Simultaneously, Drevos released a burst of ki that manifested as a blue aura around him before he used the boost to charge at Zeluun. With the high speed rush, Drevos closed the distance between him and his target in record time, Drevos then landed three blows in succession. A punch to the face followed by an uppercut then followed by a kick to the chest, sending Zeluun crashing into his men.
Zeluun let out a grunt as he stumbled back to his feet.
"What are you standing for!! Kill them both!!" Zeluun shouted as his men began charging at Drevos. Seeing this the king threw the men he held at the approaching crowd, throwing the man into the crowd the way a stone finds water, bodies scattering outward from the impact.
"Nice assist, Celryuu." Drevos said as he raised his hand at the men. In the next moment a barrage of ki blasts left his hand, decimating the forces before him. Zeluun made his way through the blasts successfully dodging as he made his way to Drevos. Appearing before Drevos, Zeluun threw a punch which Drevos caught, the clash of power sending a shockwave throughout the room.
"Don't you forget my strength, Drevos." Zeluun said as he grinned.
"Strength without pride is meat without bone." Drevos said as he headbutted his opponent. As Zeluun winced and his head whipped back, Drevos delivered three blows to his face as he held on to his hand to ensure he did not move back.
The king seeing the men collecting their bearing flew at them with incredible speed. Using his speed as propulsion the king delivered a devastating kick to one of the men as he stood up, the sound of his neck snapping filled the throne room. The king then landed between the men as his aura began to burst wildly.
"Let us settle this now." the king said as the men surrounded him.
Drevos a bit distracted by the King's display fell victim to a sucker punch from Zeluun, the traitor burying his fist into the chest of his opponent. In one breathe all the wind left Drevos' lungs and he fell to his feet. Zeluun spat out blood as he looked at the king.
"As I expected, your power is truly something incredible and I suppose we have not seen your full extent. Unfortunately for you, I am a clever man. And a clever man must have a plan!" Zeluun shouted as another figure stepped foot into the room.
It was a young man, his body small yet muscular. His hair jet black and wild but his eyes, those are what stood out the most, for he had crimson eyes, eyes which held a deep and dark rage.
"Those eyes. A mangold." the king said, his voice serious as he took a fighting stance.